


The Boosh in Narnia: Not a Story for Children

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Series: Howard and Vince's Literary Fantasies [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: AU: Narnia, Crossdressing, Fur Kink, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, World War II, canon-typical age dysphoria, howince, misuse of literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: Howard invited Vince into his fantasy and his favourite book in the previous story, so this time it's Vince's turn.This story, like its counterpart, takes place in the unhappy period after “The Chokes”, when Howard and Vince were barely speaking to one another. These shared dreams or  fantasies (which we know they were capable of thanks to “The Nightmare of Milky Joe”) were the only way they were able to communicate with each other about their feelings, keeping their relationship on life support until things improved during “Married on the Morrow”. They had no memory of the fantasies afterwards, but were affected by them on an unconscious level.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Series: Howard and Vince's Literary Fantasies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066475
Kudos: 7





	The Boosh in Narnia: Not a Story for Children

**Author's Note:**

> Keen readers will notice I have changed several inconsequential details in C.S. Lewis' story. In the process of writing a series of seven books, Professor Lewis understandably contradicted his own timeline on occasion. The children were made slightly too young, and the Professor decades too old, for example, and once in a while he took mild artistic liberties with history and geography, since he was writing children's fiction. 
> 
> I feel as if I should apologise profusely to Professor Lewis, except that according to a book of his I read, he's in Heaven and incapable of being hurt or offended or suffering any negative emotions at all. So instead I will apologise to the fans of Narnia. The Boosh tempted me, and I did write.

Once there were four children, brothers and sisters, whose names were Peter, Susan, Howard, and Lucy. To escape the bombs which were feared would fall upon London (and did), they were sent away to the house of a Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station, and two miles from the nearest post office.

Howard thought this was very strange, because as far as he was aware, his childhood had been spent in Yorkshire during the 1970s. And he remembered having a thirty-second birthday with a bouncy castle and a certain amount of excitement on the roof before that, so to be eleven years old now made no sense at all.

After they had seen the Professor, who was middle-aged, bald, and smoked a pipe, the children were sent up to the room they had been given to play in, which had shelves and shelves of books and a wireless. Peter and Susan laughed at Howard when he wondered if there was a television somewhere they could watch.

Lucy said kindly, “You know they stopped it because of the war, Howard”.

“And it was only in London, anyway”, Peter put in. “As if the signal could get all the way out here!”.

“Why are there so many of us?”, Howard asked, who was an only child and found three siblings rather wearing.

Susan answered, “So that we are never lonely, of course. And Peter and I will always take care of you and Lucy”.

“What, even when we're forty or something?”, asked Howard incredulously.

“That's enough of your cheek”, said Peter sternly, and Susan added, “Anyway, it's time for you to go to bed”.

“Bloody little fascists”, Howard muttered to himself, but mercifully nobody heard, and they all went to sleep at the same time in order to ameliorate Susan's bedtime dictum.

The house was surrounded by hills and woods, and the children looked forward to exploring them the next day, but when they awoke, it was raining. It was a good steady rain, and so solid that they could no longer see the hills and woods, or even the stream at the bottom of the garden.

“Typical”, remarked Howard with a gloomy satisfaction after breakfast.

“Do stop grumbling, Howard”, said Susan. “Ten to one it will clear up in an hour”.

In fact, Howard wasn't that bothered. He was interested in looking through the books, and hopeful that he might be able to find jazz music on the wireless. But Peter was the eldest, and he decreed that they should play Hide and Seek. Susan was “It”, and as soon as Peter and Lucy scattered to hide, Howard began looking for a hiding place of his own.

Shortly afterwards he came across a room which was quite empty except for one big wardrobe – the sort that has a looking-glass on the door. There was nothing else in the room at all, except a dead bluebottle on the windowsill.

Howard thought he heard Susan behind him, and tried the door of the wardrobe, feeling almost sure it would be locked. To his surprise, it opened quite easily, and two mothballs dropped out.

Looking inside, he saw several coats hanging up - long fur coats. Howard loved the smell and feel of fur. The best thing about going to the Arctic had been draping himself entirely in mink. It had to remain a secret, thanks to animal rights activists and Vince reading him selected items from _Minky Monthly_ in a reproachful sort of way. But animal rights activists in 1940 only cared about vivisection and things, and Vince hadn't been born yet.

Howard immediately stepped into the wardrobe and got in among the coats, rubbing his face into them, and fondling the fur. (If the fur coats touched any lower portion of his body, I cannot say, for that is part of Howard's private story.) He left the door open, of course, because he knew that it is very foolish to shut oneself into any wardrobe and have to wait for Captain Cabinets to let you out. Remember that, please, next time you decide to hide in a wardrobe, or a fridge, for that matter. I mean, we all like fun, but it's even more fun when we can have _safe_ fun.

He went further in and found that there was a second row of coats hanging up behind the first one. It was almost quite dark in there and he kept his arms stretched out in front of himself so as not to bump his face into the back of the wardrobe. He took a step further in, then two or three steps, always expecting to feel woodwork against the tips of his fingers. But he could not feel it.

"How buggeringly big is this bloody wardrobe?", thought Howard, still going further in and and pushing the soft folds of the coats aside to make room for himself. Then he noticed that there was something crunching under his feet.

"Mothballs, I suppose", he thought, stooping down to feel them with his hands. But instead of feeling the hard, smooth wood of the floor of the wardrobe, he felt something soft and powdery and extremely cold.

"Brian Christ", Howard said, and warily went on a step or two further. He could see light ahead, and wondered if he was disoriented, and seeing the light from the open wardrobe door. But instead of finding himself stepping out into the spare room he found himself stepping out from the shadow of some thick dark fir trees into an open place in the middle of a wood.

There was crisp, dry snow under his feet and more snow lying on the branches of the trees. Overhead there was a pale blue sky, the sort of sky one sees on a fine winter day in the morning. Straight ahead of him he saw between the tree trunks the sun, just rising, very red and clear.

Everything was perfectly still, as if he were the only living creature in that country. There was not even a robin or a squirrel among the trees, and the wood stretched as far as he could see in every direction. He shivered.

Howard was cold, and a bit scared, and he had almost made his mind up to go back through the wardrobe when he heard, very far off in the wood, a sound of bells. He listened and the sound came nearer and nearer and at last there swept into sight a sledge drawn by two reindeer.

The reindeer were about the size of Shetland ponies and their hair was so white that even the snow hardly looked white compared with them. Their branching horns were gilded and shone like something on fire when the sunrise caught them. Their harness was of scarlet leather and covered with bells.

On the sledge, driving the reindeer, sat a lady with ice blue eyes and raven hair that flowed over her shoulders, the darkness of it standing out against the whiteness of the surrounding snow. She was covered in white fur up to her throat and held a long straight golden wand in her right hand and wore a golden crown on her head. Her face was white - not merely pale, but white like paper or icing sugar or Robert Smith's makeup, except for her very red lips. It was a beautiful face, but also mocking and mischievous, and as if she could chuck a massive sulk when she felt like it.

The sledge was a fine sight as it came sweeping towards Howard with the bells jingling and the snow flying up on each side of it. Then the sledge stopped, so smoothly that it barely made a sound in the soft snow. The lady looked down at Howard, and gave him a friendly, yet untrustworthy, grin.

"Hi Howard", the lady said, her tongue touching the inside of her lips.

“Vince?”, gasped Howard in shocked disbelief. “What are you doing here?”.

“It's my fantasy, innit?”, Vince said.

“What, it's your fantasy to go dashing through the snow dressed as a pantomime character?”, Howard asked.

“Well, _your_ fantasy was for us to run round the Yorkshire moors like a pair of mental cases because of your favourite book”, said Vince, “and this is mine. Because of that story you read me, about the lion and the witch and the cupboard”.

“The wardrobe”, said Howard slowly, remembering how he had entered this strange land.

“Cupboard. Wardrobe. Whatever”, shrugged Vince.

“So _you_ brought me here?”. Howard's voice had become ominously quiet, yet every syllable rang out clearly in the still air.

“Yeah. Genius, innit?”, said Vince, waving a hand proudly at the snowy landscape, washed over with pale dawn light

“You complete and utter _arse_!”, Howard raged at him. “I've been living on wartime rations and sent to bed early and bossed around by an older brother and sister and there's no telly! Meanwhile, you're swanning about like the Snow Queen on a bloody sledge wearing a fucking _crown_!”.

“What?”, asked Vince, confused. “I thought the fantasy started here. Did you go all the way back to the beginning of the story?”.

“Of course I did”, Howard said in exasperation. “Your character only enters at this point. Mine has to escape the sodding Blitz and go on a long train ride in the first three sentences”.

“That's just typical of you, Howard”, Vince said, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh. “You always have to do things by the book”.

“And now I've been trudging through the snow, wearing _shorts_ , because it's summer on the other side of the wardrobe!”.

“Nice legs”, commented Vince, staring at them with a surprising intensity.

“Well, yes. I do have willowy, sleek legs like an antelope”, Howard admitted. “But the fact remains that I'm freezing”.

"Oh, come on, then", Vince said, gesturing to Howard. "Climb up on the sledge with me".

Vince put out a hand, and Howard clambered onto the sledge close beside him, before Vince loosened his white cloak so that they could both be wrapped in its warm folds. It was a simply enormous cloak, and like being under a blanket of fur.

“There you go, now I'll tuck you in all nice and warm like a good boy”, said Vince soothingly, adjusting the cloak over Howard. "Wanna hot drink?".

"I could murder a coffee", Howard agreed through chattering teeth. "Perhaps with something a little stronger?".

Vince felt around under the sledge seat and pulled out a flask that looked as if it were made of copper. He pulled off the jewelled cup that was used as a lid, and poured Howard a coffee. Magically, it was not only steaming hot, but topped with a swirl of whipped cream and a dusting of chocolate shavings.

“Mm, thanks”, Howard said, taking a sip. “I can taste a drop of whisky in it”. He kept drinking from the cup; it was both bitter and sweet, as well as creamy and foamy, and it warmed him right down to his toes.

“Yeah, it's a bit like a hot Baileys”, Vince said, leaning over to lick off a morsel of cream from the top with the tip of his tongue and grin at Howard. “Hungry?”.

“God yes”, said Howard feelingly. “All I had for breakfast this morning was a tiny bowl of porridge and skim milk, and tea last night was beetroot sandwiches”.

Vince took his gold wand, pointed it at his hand, and a split second later he was holding a big silver platter. He pointed the wand at the plate, and soon it was piled with a stack of pancakes. They were just the way Howard liked them – large and thin with lacy edges. Each pancake was bubbled over with little holes that dripped with butter, wrapped around rashers of crispy streaked bacon, and Howard had never tasted anything more delicious. He was quite warm now, and very comfortable.

“Do you remember our pancake crimp?”, Vince said. “ _Look at his milky yellow sunshine face …_ ”.

“ _Flip it now, flip it good, ooh_ ”, Howard supplied through a mouthful of pancake and bacon.

“I loved Pancake Day”, Vince said nostalgically, as if mourning for a long-ago time that could never return, rather than the previous February.

“We'll have other ones”, Howard consoled him, mopping up butter and bacon with the last bit of pancake. He stared meaningfully at the silver platter before adding, “That was lovely. I could eat it all over again”.

Vince smiled but didn't respond to this _very_ strong hint. He knew that Howard had eaten magic pancakes which would make him want to eat more and more of them, and he shouldn't have another platter. Instead he used his wand to magic up a hot, moist flannel for Howard to wash his hands and face. Once Howard was all clean, Vince put the flannel under the seat, and pressed himself against Howard like a loving cat. A warm expansive Howard threw his arm around Vince's shoulders.

“So why is this your favourite book?”, Howard asked.

“I've always loved stories set in weird woods”, Vince replied. “Mowgli. Tarzan. Alice. Pooh. Red Riding Hood. Raggedy and Rupert. Max and the wild things. They're all genius”.

“I suppose it's because you grew up in a weird sort of wood”, Howard said. “But why do you love this one the best?”.

Vince looked suddenly shy, and glanced away. “The ice and snow. There's something extra magical about it. You know, I loved going to the Arctic with you. The whole adventure”.

“We had a terrible fight”, Howard said, his voice seemingly on the edge of trembling. “I nearly lost you”.

“It was where we first told each other that we loved each other”, Vince said, looking down so Howard could only see his eyelashes.

“The first? We never said it again”, Howard said, aggrieved.

“We didn't have to”, Vince murmured. “We both meant it, and neither of us took it back”.

“I thought you didn't approve of fur”, Howard said, plucking at the cloak. “You said it was wrong to wear it”.

“It's not real, it's a fantasy”, Vince said. “You do all sorts of things in fantasies you wouldn't do in real life”. He began to dreamily caress Howard's bare legs under the cloak.

“Vince, what are you doing?”, demanded Howard, sitting bolt upright. “You're feeling up a little boy. I'm only eleven, you nonce!”.

There was a snuffle of muffled laughter from Vince. “Have you actually seen yourself, Howard?”.

“Yes”, Howard answered. “There was a mirror on the wardrobe door. I look like I'm eleven”.

“Well, that isn't how you look to me”, Vince said. “You're a big northerner with a moustache and crows feet and look old enough to be my dad”.

“What did I look like to other people?”, Howard wondered. “To the children and the Professor and the servants?”.

“How on earth would I know?”, Vince countered reasonably.

“What am I wearing?”, Howard asked curiously.

“Little grey shorts, blue woolly tank top over a white shirt and blue tie, and long white socks”, snickered Vince, his hands going up under the said little grey shorts.

“Same clothes then”, said Howard, giving a little wriggle.

Vince undid Howard's buttoned flies, making a soothing crooning noise, then collapsed into laughter.

“Howard, look at your pants!”, he shrieked. “They're like something an old man would wear!”.

“It's 1940”, Howard said defensively, attempting to pull his shorts back up. “And they're perfectly clean, I only put them on this morning and we haven't even been out of the house”.

“No, no, they're um … cute”, Vince assured him, smothering his giggles. “They're starting to work for me”. He began pulling Howard's pants down – not roughly, but firmly.

“Little tart”, said Howard in a strained voice, making unconvincing noises of protest.

But Vince was beside him, taking him in hand, and the fur of the cloak moved with him. Howard was completely surrounded by fur, with fur being rubbed against him, and Vince's voice in his ear. Encouraging, cajoling, praising. Starting soft and slow as ice beginning to thaw, then as smooth and sweet as running water, and finally as wonderfully strong as a great river in flood. Making filthy suggestions in a voice innocent as snow until Howard twitched against the sledge and let out a deep sigh, and then Vince cleaned him up, but without bothering about the flannel.

After a moment, Howard buttoned his shorts and leaned over to wipe a kiss across Vince's lips.

“So that was your fantasy?”, he asked. “To wank me off in a sledge?”.

“No”, Vince said, offering his mouth again in a kiss lighter than a petal falling. “You see, you might think of me as the White Witch ….”.

“Well, look at you”, said Howard. “Long black hair, pointy features. Skidding about performing magic. Wanking people off in the snow. Put you in the 1940s, you'd be imprisoned for being a witch. Lock you in a trunk”.

“I'm not though”, said Vince with one of his most beautiful smiles, which spread across his face as if the sun was dawning. “I'm the Queen of Narnia, and you are my most loyal, most loving, most luscious subject”.

Vince cupped Howard's face in his hand and looked deep into his eyes, then spread the fur cloak wide so that Howard could clearly see the sleeveless purple brocade dress he had on underneath. Then he slowly raised the hem while fluttering his lashes, higher and higher, until it had exposed his muscular thighs.

“Worship me”, he commanded.

“I hear and obey, O Queen”, Howard responded in a wolfish growl.

Like a loyal subject, not to mention loving and luscious, he knelt on the floor of the sledge between Vince's purple high-heeled boots and worshipped his queen with his hands and his mouth. Vince spread his bare arms against the back of the sledge and threw his head back in appreciation of the homage done to him, which was patient and thorough.

Soon Howard noticed it was getting wetter, he was feeling much less cold, and there was a steady drip-drip-drip. Vince bent over towards him, placing his hands on Howard's head as if in benediction. The reindeer broke free from their harness and ran away without either of them noticing, until finally a great white load fell. Vince cried out and Howard gave a simply huge gulp before his face fell forward into Vince's lap, and Vince stroked his hair with an expression of amazement.

All around the sledge now there was green grass, covered in pools of snowdrops, celandines, crocuses, and primroses. The firs had shaken off their robes of snow, the oaks, beeches, and elms had covered themselves in a delicate green, and shafts of sunlight struck down to the forest floor. Birds began cheeping and chirruping in the trees, until the whole wood was ringing with their song. The sky was blue with white clouds scudding across it, and a light breeze carried cool, delicious scents that brushed against their faces. A bee buzzed as it circled them.

It was going to be a beautiful spring day.

**Author's Note:**

> the Professor: description based on Lewis himself, as Professor Kirke is something of an Author Avatar.
> 
> television: the BBC began regular broadcasts in London in 1937 (experimental ones started in 1929). When they were suspended in 1939 because of the war, there were perhaps 40 000 homes which owned a television.
> 
> even when we're forty: Lucy Barfield, the inspiration for Lucy Pevensie, developed MS in her late twenties, and required care until she was permanently confined to a hospital bed. 
> 
> vivisection: cutting open live animals for experimentation, or “animal testing”. The Anti-Vivisection movement unfortunately got involved with fascists and anti-vaxxers in the 1940s, which ruined their reputation. And I'm sure 1940s animal rights activists did care about fur and refuse to wear it, but there wasn't a widespread public campaign against it.
> 
> What did I look like?: I think Howard must have appeared as a young boy to everyone else, because he complains that he only got a tiny breakfast and tea. And none of the children are surprised by his appearance.
> 
> clothing: based on Pauline Baynes' coloured illustrations.
> 
> imprisoned for being a witch: technically possible, as witchcraft was illegal in the UK until 1951. In 1944, a Scottish woman named Helen Duncan got 9 months for the offence. Winston Churchill, a member of the Ancient Order of Druids, put in a grumpy but futile protest.


End file.
